


Christmas Comes Early and Often

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Party, Christmas Smut, Domestic, F/M, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark Smut, Married Couple, Married Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, POV Katniss Everdeen, Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: Katniss finds herself in a compromising position with Peeta and a household appliance. Well, really...she's just ironing when her husband comes home. It's not her fault things get a little steamy.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72
Collections: The Hunger Games 2020 Season of Hope Holiday Gift Exchange





	Christmas Comes Early and Often

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JHsgf82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHsgf82/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Everlark Advent 2016](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8728057) by [Xerxia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxia/pseuds/Xerxia). 



> Happy holidays and Merry Christmas! Wishing my Secret Santa and everyone else a wonderful season of cheer!
> 
> Written for the prompt: Canon or AU. Holiday smut (free-rein)

I’m ironing when he comes home, and maybe I should have thought about the irony (pun intended) of the steamy heat and hard instrument. I didn’t, though, and that’s how I found myself in a compromising position with Peeta Mellark and a household appliance.

The holiday party his company throws every year is nothing less than an extravaganza, and he’s always wound up about looking his best. His skills with an iron are legendary—he’s all precision and the perfect amount of starch—but I insist on taking care of the shirt he wears for his annual event. This time, though, I decided to kick it up a notch. I’m completing my wifely duty in nothing but a pair of peach tinted tanga panties and a smile while an obnoxious ball of mistletoe hangs over my head.

Yes, it’s an invitation, but I’m feeling a little aroused after the string of messages he sent me throughout the day reminding me that he’d hired a driver and is looking forward to having me alone tonight. Peeta’s the sexiest man I’ve ever known. He also has a thing about not drinking and driving, which means a chauffeur is cause to celebrate. I’m hoping we can start early.

I hear him before I see him. That’s normal for my husband. He’s all purpose with little thought for treading lightly. It’s one of the things I love most about him. His ability to take charge in any situation while still being entirely willing to step to the side when I can handle the situation more effectively. He’s a gem, my husband, and I have a vested interest in letting him know how much I appreciate the way he sloughs off traditional patriarchal roles and happily lets me overshadow him at any time.

Peeta rounds the corner and sees me. I know he does because he lets out an appreciative groan at the sight of me in my semi-nude state. I thought about wearing heels, too, but I dismissed it as trying too hard, when I know how little effort it takes to make him happy. Peeta’s thankful for everything I do. There’s never a question that he might take me for granted. If anything, he lavishes me with affection so much that I even believe I’m worth the amount he cares.

“This is quite a welcome home,” he says, his voice a low rumble that rolls off his tongue. “To what do I owe this pleasant greeting?”

I turn to face him and watch as his eyes darken. He takes in my form, glancing over my bare chest to the strip of satin between my legs. He licks his lips, and I turn into a sexual cliché. I actually put the tip of my index finger between my teeth and bite down.

He’s on me quicker than I expected, which is pretty quickly since I’d planned this seduction down to the second. I don’t even have time to switch off the iron before he’s on me, his big hands on my waist and tugging me to him. His mouth plunders mine as he tips my head back to sweep inside. His tongue plunges and thrusts, rubbing against mine with a friction that shoots straight to my clit. I’ve only been in his presence for thirty seconds, but I’m already dripping for him.

Peeta nudges my legs apart with his knee, and his thick thigh is there. I rub against him and go a little feral. I’m turned on so thoroughly and suddenly that I feel like I’m in heat. My panties are wet, and I can’t get enough. I moan into his mouth, desperate for more, and he lets me have it.

“Up you go,” he growls and hoists me into the air. My legs wrap around his waist, and I rock my hips against his growing erection. He’s hard so quickly that it’s a little dizzying. I do that to him. I turn him on that much. It’s mind-blowing that he wants me the way he does.

The counter’s cool below me, but Peeta’s hotter than the iron. I tear at his buttons, frantic with lust. It seems to take forever, but I finally free his torso from the fabric and press my palms against his pectorals. He grunts into my kiss and reaches down to unbuckle his belt. He fumbles for a few minutes, but then he’s free. The tip presses into my panties, and my breath catches in the back of my throat.

The whimper that escapes is plaintive, desperate, and almost embarrassing. I have no pride. There’s only the overwhelming desire to have him inside me before we have to leave. I can’t stand the thought of going through this party without the flush of being freshly fucked. It’s our tradition to mark each other before we step inside the doors of his professional life. It’s a nice bookend, really. Frantic desperation beforehand and languid exploration afterward. I love traditions like these.

“Are these new?” he asks, his voice low and husky against my skin. “Do I need to be careful?”

“No,” I assure him. “No, these are older. They’re easily replaceable.”

I jolt at the sound of tearing fabric, and then I’m fully naked. The ripped cloth is trapped between us for a second, but he pulls it free and drops it to the ground. He pushes into me, then. His head is blunt and hot, spearing me so that I’m full and panting when he starts to move.

“So fucking sexy,” he moans. “So hot. So good. Love you so much.”

He’s always effusive during sex, no matter what pace we set. He lavishes me with words when we’re playful and giggling just as much as when we’re desperate and driven. I return the favor by telling him how much he means to me, how much I adore the way he loves me and fucks me and protects me and supports me. He deserves all the praise, all the reassurance that he makes me happy.

“Do you love me enough to skip the party and stay here with me tonight?”

It’s another of our traditions—this joke we make about skipping it altogether and staying home to make love until the wee hours of the morning. His presence isn’t mandatory at the party, but we both feel that it’s important to maintain a friendly level of professionalism by attending the function. We even strive very hard to keep the lasciviousness to just us. It’s not like I’m trying to start a sex cult with his office, and we’re not exhibitionists. We’ve never even snuck away for a quickie, but I’ve always considered the option.

“I love you _more_ than that,” he answers, but I know he won’t allow himself to skip tonight. He needs to attend for his own sake. He should be a presence in the company and support its mission. He should also be readily available to scratch all my itches.

He pushes in and pulls out in a steady, determined rhythm that makes all my nerve endings sing. His strokes are sure and incredibly generous as they stoke a fire that rivals the heat of the iron.

“How did I get so lucky?” he murmurs against my skin and accompanies his words with a swirl of his tongue that does things to me. My nipples pinch, and affection swells in my chest.

Below the waist is a different story. There’s no affection there. It’s pure lustful greediness as I pull on him with my walls, practically begging him to stroke me harder. He grunts when I shift my legs and plant my heels on the edge of the counter. My knees are splayed so wide they practically point in opposite directions. His eyes go fuzzy, and he slams into me roughly.

“More,” I pant, and he makes a strangled groan deep in his throat.

I stop trying to hold it together and howl as he lifts my hips to hammer into me. He’s frantic, and all I can do is cling to him and try not to shatter into a million shards. His face is buried in my shoulder, and the sounds that drop from him… There are no words for it. He’s lost, chasing the prize and pleading with me to come with him.

My head drops back and bangs against the wall. I close my eyes and bite my lip. My blood buzzes in my veins, and I know I’m only moments from that instant when everything winds too tight and then snaps with a satisfying crack.

And then it happens.

Peeta goes first with a bellowed surrender. The sound of his hoarse baritone, the feel of him inside me, the smell of the heated iron mixed with our arousal— I’m adrift in the erotic haze of my husband offering all he has to me. He’s given me everything, slumped against me and clinging to my body as he struggles to control his breathing.

He pulls out and replaces his cock with his fingers. I shudder as he starts a new pattern. I’m sensitive after what just happened, but he pushes me the way he knows I like it. It’s become a theme with us. I try to stop, and he knows my body craves a little bit more.

“I’m going to be thinking about this the entire time we’re at the party,” he murmurs. “I might not make it until we get home. We might have to find a private little spot…”

I bite his shoulder and clench around him. He pulls his fingers free and smears my climax over my swollen lips and across the insides of my trembling thighs. When I’m filthy, he lifts his hand to his mouth and sucks on his fingers.

“I need a shower.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

He drops to his knees in front of me, and I almost bite my tongue. He licks the insides of my legs first, cleaning them from the fluid he just put there. I’m trembling as he does. My body’s already tired from the first climax, but I know there are more in my immediate future.

His mouth finds my clit, and I melt around him. There are no words for the assault he wages. My body jolts and quivers, and I come on his tongue. Multiple times. Electrical currents zing through my body as I experience multiple orgasms. That’s how good at eating pussy Peeta Mellark is.

I’m weeping by the time it’s over. My limbs won’t work and hang akimbo. I can hardly stay perched on the counter because I’m so very, very satisfied and wrung out and completely and thoroughly ruined. I’ve come so much I think I might be dehydrated, and Peeta’s face glistens with moisture.

“You’re going to have to carry me to the party,” I mumble. “Can’t move.”

Peeta rises, and I grin at him dopily. His eyes are still dark, and he kisses me hotly. I can taste myself on him, tangy and slick, before he eases back and says, “Is that so?”

I squeak in response because he has a dangerous flicker in his eyes. I should have known better than to think he was done with me. Instead, he drapes me over him and puts his hand between my legs. My escaping whine is high enough to mimic a dog whistle.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he breathes in my ear. “I think you need more. Don’t you think so, too?”

I can’t answer. Not when he’s three fingers deep inside me and curling his fingers just so. My eyes roll back in my head, and my hips buck. He rubs my walls until my toes curl. I fuck onto his fingers and chase another high and then another, and I stop trying to make sense of any of it.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. There’s no memory of a moment when my entire body combusted and burst into flames. I’m too far gone to care. I’m not in control of myself anymore. I’m a slave to his fingers and mouth and will.

I don’t know how there’s anything left. I’m totally spent, and yet, I keep coming. It’s completely involuntary, entirely reflex, and thoroughly satisfying. My walls contract repeatedly, and I go limp.

“I want to keep going,” he whispers reverently. “I’ve never seen you like this. Never seen you so vulnerable and open. Never seen your body responding by instinct like this.”

I can’t argue. I don’t have the energy or the inclination to stop him. It feels too good, and he wants to make me feel that way. Who am I to discourage that?

“’s good,” I sigh in a partially incoherent slur. He must take it as permission to continue because every nerve in my body is centered on my clitoris. His thumb rubs gentle circles around the nub and then presses into it. I jerk and writhe under him, screaming his name. There’s nothing else. My entire existence is this moment of climax. It’s everything.

It must only be a few minutes before he rouses me. I’ve slipped into subconsciousness, and I can only guess it’s because Peeta’s fucked me so thoroughly I can’t stay awake. This party is going to be absolute hell.

“Christmas party. Bah humbug,” I groan.

He chuckles and helps me down from the counter. My knees buckle, and he holds me upright until I’m able to walk. It takes an embarrassingly long time to regain my footing.

“I’m going to have to redo my entire shirt,” he sighs. “I guess it’s worth it.”

“You know what else is worth it?” When I whisper in his ear, his pupils fatten, and he backs away from me.

“Go take a shower,” he orders. “The faster we get to that party, the sooner we can come home and do…that.”

“You sure you don’t want to skip it? You can quit your job. We can live on my income, right?” I’m only half joking this time.

He’s tempted, and I dangle that ball of mistletoe that started it all from my finger.

“Later,” he promises and watches me stumble down the hall to the bathroom. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s holding the iron and watching me with molten blue eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Now that the authors have been revealed, I'd like to clarify that this story was inspired by [Xerxia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxia/pseuds/Xerxia)'s [Strike While the Iron's Hot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8728057/chapters/20755999#workskin). When she was writing her story, I wrote some smut in the same vein but didn't ever publish it. I decided to dust it off for this exchange. I appreciate her willingness to let me pay tribute to her work.


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